


Little Coffee Shops in Big Cities

by Ship_On_The_Sea



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anyways, Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I'm finally doing an au? perhaps!, M/M, OFC - Freeform, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, This was fun to write tho I'm glad I decided to do this, because I thought it would be strange for him to be named Dream in this fic, even tho it took like a week for me to write it bc I started school this week, maybe some angst idk yet, no beta we die like men, oh btw I used Dream's real name in this, oh wow look a coffee shop au, omfg my legs are so sore bc I'm taking a pe class, proofreading who's that idk her, so it's now gonna be a multi-chaptered fic, someone just end me already-, sorry if that makes you uncomfortable!, this was meant to be a oneshot but then I just kept writing and writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26008975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ship_On_The_Sea/pseuds/Ship_On_The_Sea
Summary: It's been four months since George moved into the large city to pursue his job, and after a particularly bad day at work he discovers a small coffee shop he's never noticed before, and enters it.He never expected to find someone dressed as if they were cosplaying a highlighter, and definitely didn't expect to find love, but hey, that's just life.~~~~DNF Coffee Shop AU! (ON HOLD/DISCONTINUED)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 108
Kudos: 520





	1. Blueberry Lemonade

**Author's Note:**

> FUCKING HELL I was supposed to finish the two wips I already have but then randomly decided to use one of my word time prompts to write a coffee shop au, and then school starts and I suddenly don't have the time or energy to write as much, so that's why it took like a week for me to write the first chapter of this.  
> I'm excited about it though, I know it has great potential to turn into a good fic! I hope I'm able to continue this, and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Also holy shit can we get a pog in chat bc 7 Days passed 1000 kudos yesterday omg-

George wasn’t having that well of a day. Not at all.

His morning had been alright. He woke up to his alarm, got ready for work, and took the bus to his small office, a local business of web developers. He started working, answering calls and commissions from clients, and eventually, it was time for his lunch break.

And that’s when his day started turning sour. The blow came when he discovered a coworker had eaten the lunch he’d brought from home and stored in a shared mini-fridge, and was forced to eat a stale bag of chips from one of the few vending machines on his floor.

Then an hour and a half later, his day went from sour to foul. It all began after he sent out the prototype of a webpage to a new client, and received a hasty call back from her, who immediately began yelling into his ear about how the colors she wanted were all wrong and that it must have been done on purpose to mock her. When George had tried to apologize and explain that the error was an accident due to being colorblind, the client refused to believe him, screaming that someone with colorblindness shouldn’t have been hired for a job involving design, and demanded to speak to a higher employee for him to be reprimanded for his ‘mockery’. Eventually, George did forward the call to his boss, but what the woman had told him didn’t sit with him lightly, and he was unable to work well, being hungry and frustrated. So he sat there for the next twenty minutes, staring blankly at his screen, until his boss approached him sympathetically and told him he was given the rest of the day off, both of them knowing he wasn’t going to be able to finish another commission before the day ended.

George was sent out of the building with a supportive pat on the shoulder, and he walked silently to the bus stop at the end of the street, waiting for the next bus to arrive.

He’d been standing for ten minutes wondering why he hadn’t seen the bus, or any vehicles pass, when an older woman in a bright yellowish vest approached him on a moped and explained there had been a crash downtown, preventing all traffic from moving. George had nodded in understanding, and thanked her, before he began the long process of walking back home to his apartment, breathing in frustrated breaths and exhaling mumbled curses. It wasn’t that he minded walking, it was great for exercise; It was just that all the inconvenience he’d experienced over the past three hours were piling up rather quickly.

Such as the weather being rather muggy and humid, causing George to begin feeling hot as he walked briskly down the sidewalk, regretting having worn a dark polo shirt paired with dark-gray dress-pants. So overall, George felt pretty miserable.

But his self-misery was put on hold as he passed a building he didn’t recognize, the modestly-sized building sandwiched between two larger structures, two he recognized from staring out of the window of the bus for the past four months. 

Was this building new? How had George not seen it?

Intrigued, George stopped walking and stepped back a couple of paces, stopping to look at the thing. It looked like a cafe of some sort, made from a combination of bricks and concrete, both a muddy brown color. There was a rather large awning settled at the top of the structure, colored with an array of many shades of blues and yellows that George figured was supposed to rainbow. The awning was providing shade and protection to a pair of tinted windows, an equally tinted door in between the set. To the right of the door hung a white sign with black lettering neatly printed in a handwritten font, the words ‘The Owl’s Nest’ reading back at him, and on the door was a flyer listing when the place was open for business, accompanied by a few pictures of drinks and pastries that caused George’s stomach to lurch in hunger.

Now George knew it was some sort of cafe or coffee shop, and since he was hungry and wouldn’t mind a drink either, he walked towards the door and pulled it open, hoping that whatever was being served was something he would enjoy.

The first thought entering George’s mind as he stepped inside and let the door close behind him with a soft jingle of a bell was that the establishment was cozy. The walls were a nice muted shade of what appeared to be a brown color, the ceiling and tiles a matching shade of an off-white color, and the lights were just bright enough to illuminate the building, casting everything in a softer tone. It felt like the perfect place to curl up with a book and a warm cup of hot chocolate. George found he was already liking the little coffee shop.

The second thought came when a person popped into view, and George’s vision was suddenly assaulted by neon yellow, the stranger dressed in a hooded jacket so bright it seemed to almost glow. The thought was also accidentally said aloud, George accidentally blurting out, “Why the hell are you dressed like a highlighter?”

There was a pregnant pause of silence as both George and the stranger registered what he had just said. But then, it was broken by a gasp of air, and then the most contagious laugh George had ever heard, followed by a suave, masculine voice broken with wheezes.

“Why was that the first thing you say walking in here?!” the stranger had begun, and leaned against the front counter where a cash register stood, using the counter as a support as he started laughing even harder. “What the hell is wrong with you? I can’t breathe!”

In normal circumstances, George wouldn’t have been pleased to have a complete stranger ask what’s wrong with him, but a smile couldn’t help but begin to bloom on his face as laughter continued to fill the small shop, and George felt amusement settle onto him, which began to chase away the negative emotions that were coating him minutes prior.

“Well, I’m the not the one dressed in neon yellow,” was George’s reply before he could think properly, and he mentally cursed himself for teasing what he assumed was an employee of the cafe. That wasn’t very professional or polite of him. 

George’s comment apparently sobered the employee from his thoughts, and George watched him stand back up before reaching up and dropping the bright jacket’s hood from his face. “It’s not yellow, it’s green.”

George could only blink in reply, because suddenly gay panicking was sinking into his skin like tiny knives. 

The man before him was very attractive. Not ridiculously good-looking like magazine models, but still probably one of the prettiest people George had ever laid eyes on. Shaggy blonde hair that looked like it was trying to decide if it wanted to be wavy or straight cascaded around his face, stopping at around his chin, framing a warm, slightly-dimpled smile, averagely-sized nose, and piercingly yellowish-brown eyes slightly upturned with mirth. His skin slightly tanned, and there appeared to be a hint of freckles scattered all over his face like splattered paint.

“Huh?” was what George eventually said after he recovered from taking in the employee’s appearance, having not really heard what was said.

“I said my jacket’s not neon yellow,” the man repeated, motioning to said jacket, and George caught a nametag pinned to it, reading out ‘Clay’ in a large, almost childish-looking handwriting, “it’s lime green.”

“Oh,” George said, and bit back an exasperated sigh, the events from earlier shooting back into his mind. “I can’t see green, I’m colorblind.”

“You’re good,” the man- Clay- replied lightheartedly, “It’s not like I’m going to ban you from here for not being able to see a color or two.” He took a pause in his words to glance at George from head-to-toe, and George felt a little self-conscious from it, shoving his left hand into the pocket of his pants and tracing a circle onto his leg. “Anyways, welcome to The Owl’s Nest, what can I do for you?”

“Not having customers be absolute pricks to employees,” George blurted without thinking, and mentally slapped himself on the side of his head. That was the second time within a span of three minutes he’d spoken without thinking, something unusual for him to experience. Why was he blurting out the first things that come to mind? Was there something about the man in front of him that just felt natural to do so?

“Tell me about it,” Clay replied with a casual tone, like he was chatting with an old friend, and chuckled, George feeling less frustrated and angry at the world. “What, did something happen at your job?”

“Yeah, just some idiot who didn’t follow instructions and blamed the resulting mistake on me.”

“Care to elaborate while I get you a drink or some food?” George hesitated, not sure he should really vent to some random guy working at a cafe. But looking into his eyes as he leaned against the counter to hear a reply, George saw nothing but friendly warmth that held no judgement, and knew Clay wouldn’t mind hearing him rant.

“Uh, sure, yeah, where’s the menu?” A small “oh, right” came from Clay as he reached under the counter and handed George a light blue laminated paper, and as George looked at it he noticed he could not find any text.

“Uhm, where’s the text?” he asked, showing the menu to Clay, who looked at him in confusion.  
“It’s on there? The menu and the text are- Oh.”

“Oh?” George mimicked.

“Do purples look blue to you?”

“Yeah, why?” A moment passed before George understood. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Clay put the menu back underneath the counter. “I should tell my coworker about this, I told her making them just plain black and white would be best but she just had to add a pop of color in here. The colors don’t even complement each other, either, they look so bad together.” A smile was working its way onto George’s face again as he listened to the man in front of him, before clearing his throat lightly and speaking.

“Is there any coffee or something you like that you’d recommend?”  
“Oh, I can’t drink coffee, it doesn’t work well with me,” Clay replied. George squinted his eyes in half hearted suspicion.

“Then why the hell are you working at a coffee shop?”

“We sell things other than just coffee!” Clay laughed, and George’s face relaxed back into a small smile. “For example, we have many different lemonades. Do you like lemonade?”  
“I do.”

“Then I recommend trying the blueberry lemonade, it’s surprisingly good.”

“Blueberry lemonade?” George said, scrunching his nose slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s my favorite here.”

“Well, okay, I guess I’ll get that then.” Clay turned away from George and began walking over to a clear plastic cup with the cafe’s logo on it before George remembered he also came in to get food. “Oh, and something to eat please, it doesn’t matter what though, because I’m starving.”

“What, did you skip breakfast and lunch or something?” Clay inquired, back turned as he began preparing George’s drink, and George sighed, suddenly feeling drained again.

“No, my one of my coworkers stole my lunch,” he started, and rubbed a hand across his face. “And then I got a call from a new client who started screaming at me because I apparently got the colors of the webpage prototype she commissioned wrong and thought I did it on purpose.” George felt his bad mood start to come back as he continued speaking. “But it’s not really my fault, I ask for people to put hex codes instead of color names so I can get them right but this lady didn’t and blames me for getting them wrong.”

“Oh are you, like, a web developer?” Clay asked, pausing his job and turning around to make sure George heard him. “You mentioned making a webpage.”

George nodded, and resumed speaking. “I literally have it on my commission page that hex codes need to be provided because I’m colorblind! Like actually! It literally says on the ‘Colors’ section of the page to list the name _and_ hex codes! In bold! There was no way to miss it!” Clay noticed as he walked back with George’s drink that he was looking frustrated and down, and felt the need to help the pretty stranger smile again.

“You might be colorblind,” he began, sounding slightly unsure if what he said was helping ease George’s mood, “But that lady was actually blind.” After a moment of thought, he added on. “And dumb.”

His words seemed to have done the trick, though, because a small smile began to break over George’s face as he huffed out a breathy laugh, his hand coming out of his pocket to grab his drink, taking a sip out of it. Clay watched for a reaction, and smiled when George looked pleasantly surprised at the cup he was holding.

“Oh my god this is really good.” he said, astounded.

“See, I told you it would be!”

“What type of food would you recommend?”

“That’s a difficult question to answer.” Clay looked around the room, as if he was searching for something floating in the air. “But I think my favorites would either be the strawberry-banana bread or the mini apple pies.”

“Oooo, apple pies?” George asked like an innocent and excited child in a candy story, his face lighting up. “I love apples.” Clay smiled as he nodded, turning to grab the preferred food with a pair of tongs to place on a small napkin. He definitely wouldn’t mind talking to this stranger for longer, he was attractive, cute, and pretty funny. Maybe they could become friends.

“What’s your name, by the way?” Clay asked as he placed the warm pastry onto a napkin and walked back over to the counter, sitting it in front of George, he after a moment picked it up and looked at it with an impressed expression.

“I’m George,” he said, and took a bite of the small pie, face lighting up even more as he tasted it. “Oh, wow this is good.”

“I know,” Clay said, laughing lightly. George swallowed the food in his mouth with a sip of his lemonade before he spoke again.

“Your name is Clay, right?” he asked, pointing to Clay’s name-tag. He looked down at the small white pin and nodded again. 

“No, I stole the name tag from my coworker,” Clay replied sarcastically, earning a dramatic eye roll from George. God, they’d only met less than half an hour ago, and they were already acting like they’d been friends since childhood.

“I might just have to report you for identity fraud then,” George teased back, earning an amused grin from Clay and a half-hearted snort from himself.

“Don’t you mean identity _theft_ , George?” For an unknown reason George’s heart stuttered upon hearing the man in front of him say his name in a mischievously playful tone, and he felt his face warm slightly as he took a long sip of his drink to stable himself before he replied.

“I mean, they aren’t too different from each other.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Their conversation lulled into silence as George stuffed the rest of his pastry into his mouth and chewed slowly, savoring the sweet flavor, but both of them found it wasn’t the awkward, uncomfortable silence that usually came from talking with random strangers, but instead the warm and relaxed silence that close friends often shared with each other.

“So,” George said after a minute, pausing to take another sip of his lemonade, “What’s the total?”

“Ah, don’t worry about it, it’s on the house,” Clay replied, and George blinked in confusion.

“What? No, let me pay,” George argued, reaching for his wallet in his pocket.

“No,” was Clay’s firm reply, leaning on the counter to emphasize his unmoving stance.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s on the house.” George opened his mouth to argue back further but was cut off rather quickly. “Listen, I will let you pay the next time you come here, okay?”

George paused, whatever he was about to say swallowed as he thought it over for a couple of seconds, before extending out his left hand towards Clay. “Okay, deal.”

Clay took his hand gently into his own and shook it, their joined hands bouncing once, twice, thrice before letting go. “It’s a deal.”

And with that, George picked up his drink, muttered a “Goodbye, Clay”, and left the little coffee shop, the establishment filling with its familiar emptiness once more.

Neither of them paid attention to the smiles on their faces as George resumed his walk home and as Clay grabbed a wet wipe from below the counter and wiped the surface down, and neither of them commented on the fact that their deal meant they were definitely going to see each other again, causing larger smiles to grow on their faces.

Perhaps this was the start of a new, much-needed friendship.


	2. Hot Apple Cider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That moment when you don't look at the weather forecast before going outside and you get caught in some rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead!  
> This is a bit of a toughy to write bc school is cockblocking my free time. But hey, I got this chapter out ten days after the first chapter, so I guess that isn't too bad?  
> Don't ask when the next chapter is gonna be out bc y'all I have no clue lmao what the fuck is an upload schedule? 
> 
> Anyways, hope you guys enjoy this!

It was a Saturday, four days after George had discovered the existence of The Owl’s Nest, and the existence of one of its employees, someone who had been plaguing the back of George’s mind the past few days.

Not in a bad way, though.

It was always where George was bored at work, or while staring out the window while the bus drove past the small coffee shop, sudden memories of what he’d said to him to cheer him up, the innocent thought of how he was doing, if he’d be there if George went back.

George would’ve gone back the next day to see Clay again, or during any of the past four days, but something was stopping him. He didn’t know what it was, only that it made him hesitant to go near the shop.

It wasn’t fear, George knew that much. It was more along the lines of nervousness. Like he was nervous about doing or saying something dumb in front of Clay and he suddenly wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore.

And he hated the feeling. He wanted to go back and talk to him again, to try more of his recommendations and to hear his wheezy laughter, to try and make a friend. But it was hard trying to fight his urge to run past the place every time he got near it.

So that’s why, that Saturday morning, while walking downtown to return a movie he’d rented the week before at a Redbox stand outside of a local grocery store, he vowed he’d enter the small building before the weekend was over as he passed it on the other side of the street.

What George didn’t expect was that on his walk back home, he’d be suddenly pelted with rain, having no means to protect himself from getting wet and getting completely soaked as the rain only grew heavier with every quickened step.

George ran down the sidewalk, searching widely for some sort of awning or cover he could duck under until the storm let up, almost sighing out in relief as the sight of a familiar colorful awning came into his field of vision.

Too preoccupied with seeking shelter to address his nerves telling him to run the other direction, George frantically yanked the door open and ran into The Owl’s Nest and bent over slightly, panting, water sliding off his hair and clothes and onto the tiled floor below his feet.

“George?” came a familiar voice laced with concern, and George looked up to see Clay, behind the counter, staring at him with concern, holding two cups in his hands, most likely meant for the two young women standing off to the side.

“Oh my goodness, you are soaked!” yelled another voice, startling George, and he looked over to see another person behind the counter, holding a small white clipboard in his hands, looking equally, if not more concerned.

“Sorry, I just didn’t think it would rain today,” George sheepishly said to both employees, looking away from their eyes and back onto the floor. “I’ll leave when the rain lets up.”

“No, no, you stay as long as you want,” the unfamiliar employee began with a motherly tone, and George looked back up again to meet his eyes, which bored into his own with a strange ferocity, before the man looked over to Clay.

“You said his name when he came in, you know him, right?” he asked Clay.

“Yeah, he came in a few days ago,” Clay replied, glancing at George before looking back at his coworker.

“Are you friends with him?”

George held his breath, waiting for a reply. He didn’t know why he was holding his breath, or why he cared so much for Clay’s answer. Yet, he was doing it anyway.

Clay swallowed shyly before nodding. “I think so? I mean, if he-”

He was interrupted by the other employee waving his hand at Dream dismissively. “Then why are you standing there?! Take him in the break room and help him dry off, you muffin! I’ll handle the drinks!”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” George began, his hands lifting in a surrendering motion, but his attempt to argue back was a failed one as Clay walked around the corner and up to George, grabbing one of his wrists and tugging him behind the counter and towards the closed door labeled ‘Staff Only’.

“You could get in trouble with this,” George tried again, quietly. “I don’t think your manager would be too happy about this-”

“Darryl’s one of the managers,” Clay swiftly replied, opening the door and pulling them inside.

“...The other guy’s your manager?” George asked, dumbfounded, and Clay responded with a nod, before he let go of George’s wrist and walked towards a cabinet, opening the doors and grabbing two white, fluffy-looking towels. He could only blink as Clay walked back over and handed him the towels with a warm smile, his face feeling warmer.

George hid what was probably a light blush by throwing one of the towels on top of his head and rubbing furiously at his hair, trying to get as much water out as possible. Clay remained still, refraining from moving away.

It wasn’t until after a few moments of silence that George remembered something.

“Did you really mean what you said earlier?” George asked, peeking his eyes from under the towel on his head to look at Clay. “That we’re friends?”  
Clay shifted nervously, his face flushing slightly in what George assumed was embarrassment. “Well… only if you want to be.”

“...Well… I do.” 

“You do?” The way Clay’s face lit up in pure, innocent joy could’ve been enough to kill a man. At least, that’s what George felt like as he forgot how to breathe for a couple of seconds, before a smile broke onto his own face.

“Yes!” The happiness was infectious, their mutual excitement at gaining a friend bouncing off of each other and resulting in two wide smiles.

“Hey you two,” George looked over to the door and saw the other employee- now identified as Darryl- enter the room. He walked over to George and clapped a hand on his shoulder, slightly startling George with a confused noise, before Darryl lifted his hand from George’s shoulder and shook it, a few droplets of water flying off and landing on his glasses.

“You’re wetter than I thought,” he commented, “I don’t think we can dry you off with just towels.”

“What, are you going to break out a hairdryer or something?” George asked, half-joking, but also half expecting to see one of them suddenly bring out a hairdryer.

“What? No, of course not,” Darryl casually replied, having taken the comment entirely serious, “There’s a washing machine and dryer on the other side of the room, I was thinking we could throw your shirt and pants into the dryer and have you wear an extra uniform while they dry.”

George looked over to the other side of the room and saw the two machines Darryl was mentioning, and felt his mind blank. “You really wouldn’t mind doing that?”  
“Of course not!” Darryl gave George a warm smile. “I can’t just let a friend of my friend catch a cold from the rain.”

“Th-Thank you,” George replied. The comment was followed by semi-awkward silence.

“Uhhhhm…”

“Yeah, I should probably go fetch that extra uniform,” Darryl began, shuffling out of the room. “Do you know what size shirt you wear?”

“I think I wear a medium, or a large, it doesn’t really matter,” George answered, and watched as the other brunette quickly left the room.

“You should be able to just chill in here while you wait for your clothes to dry,” Clay commented randomly after a few moments of silence, and George turned back to look at him, the towel on his head sliding off, but George luckily caught it as it hit his shoulder.

“Yeah, sounds pretty boring though.”

“I can ask Bad if I can take the rest of my shift off to keep you company.”

“Bad?” 

“Shit,” Clay said, beginning to laugh, “that’s Darryl’s nickname. We’ve known each other for a long time, met because we admined on a Minecraft server.”

“Oh,” George simply replied, “That’s interesting.”

“Yeah, so if you ever hear someone say ‘Dream’, they’re probably referring to me.”

“Dream?” George parroted the nickname, getting a feel for it.

“Yeah, Dream.”

George nodded, a smile breaking onto his face. “Dream.”

“Yeah?”

The interaction was so dumb, yet the two of them broke out into a fit of giggles and chuckles like a couple of giddy children, George covering his mouth with his hand in an attempt to calm his laughter, Clay bending over slightly as an airy wheeze escaped him.

“Aw, did I miss a joke?” Darryl- or Bad- said, entering the room with a thick, white button-up and dark pants, smiling from the infectious laughter he heard while on his return trip.

“Nah, we’re just being stupid,” Clay replied.

“Clay might be being stupid, but I’m being a comedian,” George joked after a second as Darryl approached him and placed the dry clothes in his outstretched arms, causing a small laugh to spring from the older man and for Clay to dramatically roll his eyes with a smile.

“You aren’t funny enough to be a comedian,” Clay shot back.

“They let Amy Shoomer be a comedian and I don’t see anyone laughing at her jokes though.” 

A loud, boisterous laugh from Clay immediately followed George’s reply, and as George opened his mouth to comment that what he just said wasn’t really that funny, an intense wheeze interrupted him, followed by Clay breathless yelling out “SHOOMER?!”

“Is that not her name? Amy Shoomer?” George asked loudly in order for his question to be heard over Clay losing it, who at that point looked seconds away from falling onto the floor.

“It’s Amy _Schumer_ , George,” Darryl helpfully said to George, the answer quivering from repressed laughter.

“Oh.” Clay laughed impossibly harder at Darryl and George’s exchange, slapping a hand on the wall beside him for support as his knees buckled from another intense wheeze.

“ _OH_?” he mocked, before bursting into laughter again.

“Let me show you to the restroom so you can change out of those wet clothes,” Darryl said with an amused grin, gently placing a hand on George’s arm to get his attention, “so that way he calms down and doesn’t pass out from not breathing, and we can finally get you in some dry clothes.”

“Oh, right,” George looked down at the clothes in his hands and the wet shirt plastered to his chest, “I totally forgot about that.”

“That’s alright, happens to everyone.”

* * *

By the time George had been shown to the restroom, changed, and returned to the break room to hand Darryl his wet clothes, Clay had calmed down from his laughing fit, and was currently sitting on a plastic chair nearby and scrolling through his phone.

He wasn’t completely over it, though, George having heard a mumbled “Shoomer” and a small chuckle following it as he originally reentered the room, which had caused him to snort lightly and shake his head.

“I can’t believe you’re still laughing about that,” George said, sitting down on another plastic chair across from Clay, a small table separating them. Clay looked up, a reply set on his lips, but as he looked at George, he froze. 

George blinked, confused, and simply stared back, watching Clay’s eyes move from his chest and shoulders and up towards his eyes.

They held a stare for a few seconds too long, staying nothing, remaining still.

“That- Your shirt’s a little big on you,” was what finally snapped them from whatever they were doing, Clay finally remembering how to speak. George looked down at himself, seeing the white button-up almost swallowing his frame, laying heavy on his shoulders and exposing a small part of his chest.

“Yeah, Darryl said this was the smallest size he could find,” George commented, and shrugged.

“I know we have smaller sizes in the back,” Darryl began to explain from the other side of the room, turning the dryer on and making sure it was working, causing Clay and George’s heads to turn towards him, “but that was the only one I could find around here on a moment’s notice.” After a moment, he added, “I actually think that’s your spare he’s wearing, Clay, my mistake.”

“I-It’s fine,” Clay replied, and George looked back at him, noticing his face had grown a dark shade of color and that he was refusing to look away from his coworker. “At least he’s out of those wet clothes.”

A small smile bloomed on George’s face. His new friend must be embarrassed. “Thanks again for all of this.”

“Of course,” came Darryl’s reply at the same time as Clay’s “No problem.”

A sudden, deep rumble of thunder startled George as it swept over the building, Clay and Darryl flinching.

“Looks like that storm isn’t picking up anytime soon,” Clay commented almost sheepishly. George sighed and slumped in his seat.

“I hate the rain so much.”

“And apparently the rain hates you just as much,” Clay immediately joked back.

“Why, because I got soaked?”

“Duh.” Soft laughter broke out among the two of them, Darryl smiling as he noticeably slipped out of the room to see if any other customers had entered the building. “So, any more incompetent clients since we last talked?”

George blinked, taken aback by the sudden topic change, before shaking his head. “No, luckily I haven’t ran into any more Karens so far.”

“Fuck Karens, they suck ass!” Clay replied passionately, and George heard a faint call of “Language!” from Darryl, watching Clay roll his eyes at him before he continued talking. “Yesterday I had one come up to me demanding me to explain why her apple cider didn’t have any alcohol in it and got pissed when I told her ‘Ma’am, we don’t serve alcoholic beverages here, this is a cafe.’” They both laughed again, George scooting his chair in closer to the table and leaning on it with his arms, attentive for more stories.

“Did she demand to see a manager?”

“Of course she did!” Clay replied, laughing, “When Bad came out and talked to her I had to come in here so I wouldn’t start laughing, she was throwing such a huge hissy fit over a small apple cider!”

“Was it, like cold apple cider or the hot kind?” George randomly asked.

“Hot, obviously, it’s late-September,” Clay replied with a growing smile. “Our hot apple cider is like Starbucks’ pumpkin-spice lattes, it’s the most bought drink during this time of year.”

“Awww,” George whined, “Now I want some.”

“You can always buy some,” Clay said. “You’re still a customer here, after all.”

“Oh, right,” George replied. “How much would one cost?”

“The large cups are only, like, five dollars.”

“Okay.” George patted his pants for his wallet, before a look of surprise dawned on his face, followed by an unamused expression. “I left my wallet in my pants.”

“Oh no,” Clay said. “Do you think it’ll be alright in the dryer?”

“Yeah, it wouldn’t be the first time it’s been in one,” George replied casually. “I guess I’ll have to buy one after I get my clothes back.”

“Or... I could pay for it, and you can pay me back later,” Clay suggested.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said I’d pay the next time I came in here.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have any money on you.”

“ _For now_.”

“And I’m saying you can pay me back.”

“No, I don’t want to have to pay you back.”

“Stop being stubborn, George.”

“No! You stop being stubborn!”

“Stubborn? I’m just trying to be a good friend!”

“Well, stop that!”

Their childish argument fell apart with both of them cracking and beginning to laugh.

“Let me do this, please?” Clay suddenly said amongst their laughter, a sincere and soft smile on his face. A retort was fresh on George’s tongue as he opened his mouth to immediately say no, but the more he looked at Clay’s face, the less he wanted to fight. 

So when Clay’s smile grew a little more with George’s hesitation, and the corner of his eyes began to crinkle, something in George collapsed, and he found himself giving in with an over-dramatic huff. “Fine!”

The grin George was given made him decide he was glad he got caught in the rain.

George thoroughly enjoyed the next hour, sipping some of the best (and some of the only) apple cider he’s ever had and talking about random topics to Clay, finding they had a lot in common. They also kept laughing at random intervals, caused by one of them suddenly blurting out “Shoomer”.

Eventually his clothes did dry, and he changed back into them, folding the shirt and pants he’d worn and placing them on the dryer for Darryl to deal with the next time he came back into the room.

It was right after Clay left the room to use the restroom that Darryl popped his head into the room and told George the storm had let up, and that he should go ahead and run on home before it started storming again. George had thanked him profusely, and rushed out of the break room.

He would’ve made a beeline for the door, but a sudden idea struck him as he caught sight of a pen and stack of sticky notes sitting on the counter beside the register, and noticed a lack of anyone else in the room.

* * *

When Clay returned to the break room he was surprised to find George not sitting at the table, only seeing the empty cup of what had been apple cider.

“Where’s George?” he’d asked, turning to Darryl, who was refolding the clothes George left on the dryer.

“The storm picked up, so I said he should go ahead and run home before the rain got bad again,” Darryl explained.

“Oh.” Despite knowing better, Clay felt hurt at the fact George left without saying goodbye.

Picking up the empty cup, Clay walked out of the break room, tossing the cup in a nearby trash can as he returned to the counter to resume his shift.

It was then that he noticed a five-dollar bill laying on the counter in front of him, a yellow sticky note planted on it. Clay picked the money up and examined the note attached.

_‘For the cider. Sorry I didn’t say bye, I will next time. -George’_

Relief and happiness filled Clay’s heart as he reread the note, his thumb gently running over the bill in his hand. 

When Darryl entered the room a minute later, he pretended he didn’t notice the way Clay was gently clutching the money in his hand, and didn’t comment on the soft smile and misty eyes on his face. He only gave a gentle smile, and pretended to look critically at the small flyers on the other side of the room, a small and quiet “Finally” falling from his lips.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope Bad doesn't mind his name being used in fanfics, it feels so weird writing this and using their names but I forced this upon myself and must march on and endure it. I actually have a plot planned out for this fic so perhaps next chapter will be out quicker than 10 days, but don't hold that against me bc it'll probably take longer -w-  
> I'm sorry if this doesn't flow well, I wrote this over a span of scattered days. I hope it does though.
> 
> Anyways feel free to comment, it really helps, and I hope y'all have a great day/night! Love you guys!

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and ideas are greatly appreciated! I hope you enjoyed reading this, I love you guys, and have a great day/night!


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